Page 125 of Property of Whiskey

“Then gather this.” I slide two fingers into her pussy and curl them slowly.

Her smartass answer breaks apart on a moan. She grabs the back of my neck and pulls me down to kiss her. Her head falls back into the pillow, body tightening before she starts moving against my hand.

I take my time.

Not because I’m trying to be nice.

Because watching Twila Dix get progressively more pissed off while she tries not to beg might be my new favorite hobby.

“You planning to impress me anytime soon?” she asks.

I laugh. “Talking shit while I got my fingers in your pussy is brave.”

“You like brave.”

“Love brave.”

Her eyes flick to mine at the word.

Fuck.

I kiss her before either of us can examine that too closely and curl my fingers harder inside her.

Her hips come off the mattress.

There.

I do it again.

“Whiskey.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

My thumb finds her clit.

The first circle makes her thighs tighten.

The second makes her curse.

The third wipes every bit of attitude off her face.

“Oh, fuck.”

“That’s better.”

“Don’t get smug.”

“Too late.”

She tries to glare at me, but I curl my fingers again and whatever insult she had ready turns into my name.

That does something ugly and possessive to me.

I lower my mouth to her breast, suck her nipple between my lips, and keep working her with my hand.